


Anything Essential

by Cantare



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantare/pseuds/Cantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You do understand that you are making it impossible for me to derive any enjoyment from this ‘holiday,’ seeing that I must partake of it against my will.”</p><p>Loki and Sif travel around Midgard, making the most of a forced vacation/exile/banishment. (Major spoilers for the fic 'Bargaining' by pro-antagonist.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bargaining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108212) by [proantagonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proantagonist/pseuds/proantagonist). 



> This story fits into the 'Bargaining' universe by pro-antagonist, and contains some major spoilers. If you're a Loki fan, I highly recommend you read Bargaining first, or at least the two Loki/Sif outtakes on her tumblr. The second one is basically the jumping-off point for this fic. http://pro-antagonist.tumblr.com/post/82962021988/bargaining-outtake-2
> 
> To pro-antagonist: thank you again for your amazing writing, and I hope I sorta did these characters justice :)

“Loki,” Sif snaps, but her voice is once again drowned out by the blare of a horn.

They have been driving for merely ten minutes on the lawless Midgardian construct known as the Autobahn, and she is convinced that Loki has provoked no fewer than twenty human drivers into a berserker bloodlust. His mouth is set in a thin, callous line as his foot presses down further on the accelerator. Their “luxury sports” vehicle purrs aggressively in response as they overtake yet another automobile within seconds. She thinks she can hear the faint shouting of expletives outside the window.

“Loki! For the last time, stop this reckless behavior before you get us killed.”

“Your distress is noted, but remains unwarranted,” he says in a mockingly patient tone. “The protective wards will hold, should I ‘lose control of the steering device’ and collide with another vehicle.”

“I place no stock in your assurances when a petty vendetta is involved,” she retorts. “And your wards would not extend to the Midgardian victims of your carelessness.”

“Petty vendetta?” He feigns surprise, though beneath his pleasant demeanor his annoyance is still apparent. “Pray tell, against whom might I bear such a vendetta when _rest_ and _relaxation_ are the only things allowed on my mind these seven days?”

His expression does not falter when her hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, but she can feel him tense under her palm as she runs her fingers with deceptive gentleness through his hair. Twining a few strands around her forefinger, she begins to pull.

His smirk turns into a grimace as he is forced to lean his head back to accommodate her unrelenting grip. “Sif,” he says, the edge of his long-simmering temper finally beginning to show. 

“I concede my error,” she says with false agreeability. “Why don’t we turn back and return this vehicle so that we can travel your way? Your magic is so much more efficient after all. How foolish I was to think you might enjoy the journey itself, and my company along the way. My miscalculations have wasted an embarrassing amount of our time.”

Loki sighs, briefly casting his gaze heavenward as his head is still tilted at an uncomfortable angle from her grip. “Sarcasm suits you ill, my lady. You continue to wield it as a hammer when it should be aimed as a needle. But I concede as well – I will attempt to enjoy the journey as you say. After all, if the destination were all that mattered, I certainly wouldn’t have chosen this backwater realm for a holiday.”

Sif lets go of his hair and pats the back of his head in mock consolation. “You cannot manage to speak one sentence without aiming some veiled insult in my direction, can you?”

“Alas, there are limited directions in which to aim within this vehicle. I would much rather take aim at the incompetent humans sharing the road with us, but I’m afraid they cannot hear me.”

Sif withdraws her hand from his collar so she can bury her face in her palm, but behind it she is smiling. “You are the only man I know who becomes even more of an arse while on holiday.”

“Whatever serves to entertain my lady, for this is her holiday as well.”

And just like that, the tension lifts for the first time since they embarked on this poorly planned trip. Shaking her head, she covers his hand on the gear with her own, feeling the faint hum of the engine under the smooth metal.

“What are you most looking forward to?” she asks. “There must be something.”

“Let me see. Not preparing for another month-long negotiation with Alfheim. Not compiling briefings to prepare my brother for said negotiation. Not answering his dull questions as he inevitably misunderstands what I have written—”

“I am most looking forward to trying the cuisine called sushi,” she says as she interlaces their fingers. “Jane recommends it quite highly. I don’t know whether it is served in this region of Midgard, but I believe it is very popular.”

“Such simple pleasures,” he says, but there is no mockery in his tone. “I suppose I am looking forward to the musical performance tonight. According to the Midgardian press, the Berlin Philharmonic has a reputation for transporting its audiences to Valhalla. The two of us will perhaps be the best judges of that claim.”

She hums in agreement. She enjoys these brief respites where they stop clashing and simply carry on a normal conversation. Then again, their relationship would not be uniquely theirs without the frequent insults and the occasional pulling of hair.

There is a long silence as they continue down the Autobahn at a more reasonable pace, and Loki’s driving does not attract any more rude gestures from other motorists. The tension in his shoulders is still there, and she is certain he is thinking of the delayed negotiations and his brother, and of the war his brother continues to prepare for without them beside him at the moment. She moves her hand to the back of his neck again and runs her fingers through his hair in a soft, repetitive motion. This is how she offers sympathy, and how he accepts it best – not with words but in actions. Since she initiated their relationship that night not long ago, ensconced at his side before a warm hearth, she has discovered just how responsive he is to physical contact, how he craves it, even.

As she patiently draws the tension from his shoulders, he taps a few buttons on the complicated interface above the gear, and a pleasant harmony of rich strings and subtle winds fills the car. A preview of tonight’s performance, he tells her. She smiles and closes her eyes, his hair still twirled around her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: How did Loki and Sif end up on vacation? More importantly, are they driving a Jaguar?


	2. Chapter 2

_One day earlier:_

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Loki, if you continue in this stubbornness, I am afraid I must cease beseeching you as your brother and command you as your king instead.”

Thor folds his arms across his chest and continues to stand immovable in the doorway to Loki’s chambers. To an outsider, he would strike quite an intimidating figure as the King of Asgard, Protector of the Nine Realms and Wielder of Mjolnir preparing to deliver a judgment.

To Loki, he looks like an overgrown version of his ten year-old self, demanding that his little brother give up his books and come outside to play in the dirt. More than a thousand years later, Loki still cannot figure out how to make him leave.

“You cannot order me to do anything that would bring harm upon you and Asgard,” Loki says. He eyes the half-filled satchel at Thor’s feet with a measure of disgust. His brother had entered his room without his permission and actually tried to pack his belongings for him, which meant throwing random articles of clothing haphazardly into (or at) a bag. A lowly page on his very first assignment would have accomplished the task more neatly.

“Have you so little faith in me, brother? The realm will not fall to pieces if you are not here to mind my every move for a few days. It might even fare better without you setting fire to the Council table in your delirium.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “That happened once, and only because I was provoked.”

“I have seen Sif provoke you innumerable times over the course of our lives, and never have you reacted in such a way as to lose your dignity in public. You are exhausted and under an inordinate amount of strain. I will not allow your health to deteriorate further when the remedy is so obvious: simple rest and relaxation, away from Asgard, without distraction.”

“A single night’s sleep will be enough for me to ‘recover.’ I am not even ill or injured. If you are concerned with my dignity at all, you would not suggest a full week of idleness as the solution.”

“I am not making a suggestion. I am decreeing as your king that you will leave this realm tomorrow, and you will not be allowed to return before the end of seven days. And,” he presses on as Loki tries to interrupt, “should Heimdall report to me that you are not utilizing the time in a _restful_ way, I will extend it to fourteen. If you hide yourself from his gaze, I will extend it further.”

“I cannot believe this,” Loki says, raking a hand over his face. “You are effectively banishing me.”

“For your own good,” Thor says with a grin. He wears the same triumphant look from their childhood, whenever he had managed to drag Loki away from his chambers to embark on some ill-conceived adventure.

Loki simply glares at him and snatches the bag from the floor. He begins to return each article of clothing to the drawers where Thor had found them, still refusing to cave in. Thor’s smile disappears as he moves forward to stop him, and Loki resigns himself to losing the impending wrestling match.

“Who is being banished now?” Sif’s voice sounds from the hall. Loki and Thor both turn at her approach, and Loki silently thanks her as his brother retreats from using physical force. She appears to have come straight from the training grounds, her skin slick with sweat and her face still carrying a faint flush.

“Sif, tell my oaf of a brother that he is being ridiculous,” Loki says, just as Thor greets her with, “Sif, I am afraid you were right.”

Loki looks at him sharply, then narrows his eyes at Sif, who does not seem at all surprised to see the mess of his belongings on the floor. “Right about what?”

Her consoling expression tells him immediately that she is not on his side. “Loki, you know you cannot continue like this. You are experiencing what the Lady Jane calls ‘burnout.’ If you will not seek rest on your own, we have no choice but to make you rest.”

He is already shaking his head at her hypocrisy. “Perhaps I could understand this level of naïve concern from my brother. But not from you, with your tendency to overstrain yourself both on and off the training grounds.”

“On the contrary, I take exercise with the very goal of relieving stress,” she replies. “Unlike you, with your constant brooding and fretting.”

“Sif is in agreement with me, Loki,” Thor cuts in. “You are in need of a respite, and you will take it and enjoy it. I will hear no more objections on the matter. Sif, if you could kindly aid Loki in packing for his journey.”

“With pleasure.”

Loki grits his teeth at her too-sweet smile. “You do understand that you are making it impossible for me to derive any enjoyment from this ‘holiday,’ seeing that I must partake of it _against my will_.”

“Duly noted,” Thor says, clapping him on the back. He reaches for Sif and clasps her shoulder as well. “That is why I have decided the Lady Sif will accompany you.”

It is Loki and Sif’s turn to face him as one, wearing matching expressions of disbelief.

“Have you gone mad? We are on the brink of _war_.”

“Thor, you cannot dismiss both of us from your side!”

Thor smiles. “Oh yes, I can. By the command of your king, both of you will depart in the morning for any realm but Asgard. No more protests – the faster you attain rest, the more likely I will allow you to return after merely one week and not two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: How much brooding and fretting vs. rest and relaxation will be accomplished on this vacation?


	3. Chapter 3

They arrive at their hotel in Berlin with two hours to spare, just as snow begins to fall. Sif steps out of the car with her hair curled in a bun and under a knitted hat, a half-hearted disguise. With the last-minute nature of this holiday, they had not bothered to notify their allies on Midgard of their presence. It would be troublesome if they were discovered, but Sif cannot bring herself to care overmuch about hiding.

Loki’s face is well known in this country and while he has undone the damage of his first visit, he is more circumspect about concealing his identity. Sif glances at him with some amusement as he walks beside her into the hotel lobby. His hair is cropped short in the style most human men seem to prefer in the current century, and his eyes are not their usual green, but a muted brown. Not one person looks at them as they approach the counter, and she suspects he has cast a spell to avert attention.

Once they are in their room, she removes her hat and lets her hair fall around her shoulders. She has always liked keeping it long and unbound, despite the chastisements she has received since she was a girl from her trainers. There was only one time it was ever cut short, and that was the doing of a certain God of Mischief with whom she is now in temporary exile.

Loki takes a book and several personal articles out of their bags before vanishing them into the pocket of space he often uses for storage. She leaves him to read on the divan as she tidies up in the bathroom. This establishment’s amenities are quite extravagant compared to the quaint town where she had stayed during Thor’s banishment. The bathroom alone is as large as the bedroom she had shared with Darcy Lewis.

She knows that Loki still does not want to be here, despite the relative peace they had settled into during their drive. Part of the reason is his irritation with having to take orders from anyone, especially Thor. Most of it, however, is genuine worry. There she sympathizes with him, for she shares the exact same concern.

Since Thor became king two years ago, neither of them has known a moment of rest. Thor has always had the loyalty of the people as a warrior, standing as a symbol of Asgard’s strength, but they have yet to accept him fully as a figure of authority. His forthright actions and integrity will win them over eventually, but in the meantime Loki has made it his task to fortify Thor’s authority in all the unseen ways, from containing the influence of discontented Council members to seeding new alliances with historically lukewarm realms. He has proven himself a master of statecraft and spycraft, and Sif admires him greatly for how far he has come.

She had hoped their new relationship might serve as a place of rest for him in the midst of his heavy responsibilities as well as his tendency to dwell on his past misdeeds. He does seem happier, and has certainly been more open with her about the burdens that weigh upon his heart. However, it has recently become apparent that whatever rest he has found has not been enough. He had drifted off to sleep at their last meeting with the generals, in the middle of a report on the movements of Thanos’ allies. She had tried to pinch him awake only to flinch back as he reflexively aimed a fire spell at the holographic display on the Council table. Despite the inappropriate level of entertainment the incident had provided, it had been alarming to observe the depth of his exhaustion. Loki has always prided himself on his control, and he had lost it spectacularly in front of a dozen high-ranking witnesses.

Nevertheless, she still thinks Thor acted too hastily in pushing both of his closest advisors out at the same time. He has Jane to support him, but no one with Loki’s skill in strategy or her unwavering presence as his shield. As much as she cares about Loki’s recovery, her first loyalty will always be to her king and the realm. The unease she has felt since they left Asgard will not fade until she steps back into the palace and sees that it is not in shambles.

“Brooding and fretting, are we?”

She had not noticed when he entered the bathroom, but he is standing behind her now, watching her somber expression in the mirror as she combs her hair. He has removed his glamour and his eyes are back to their normal shade.

“I am merely remembering the look on Tyr’s face when you singed his armor,” she says. “It was a much-needed break from his monologuing, but I fear he might seek revenge on you.”

“I can scarcely believe the Goddess of War would speak of meetings with Asgard’s generals in such a demeaning fashion.” He takes the comb from her hand and runs his fingers gently through her locks. “You must be more susceptible to my influence than I thought.”

“Hmm. Yes, and having to spend an entire week with you will only make it worse.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you secretly enjoy my tutelage.”

The soft motion of his hand through her hair soothes some of her hidden worry. She turns slowly to lay her head against his chest, her arms loose around his waist.

“You looked like a stranger with your glamour,” she murmurs.

“I do admire your gift for stating the obvious.”

“Could you not simply change your appearance for others, but remain as you are for me?”

She feels his low laughter through their embrace. “I could. And if we are to play that game, I could cast the same spell over you. Your so-called disguise is quite poor.”

“Enlighten me then, Liesmith.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

He draws back from her loose hold and considers her features with a thoughtful expression. She gazes back at him with a playful challenge in her eyes, and finds it odd to see indecision flit across his face. He touches her hair tentatively, and she feels a whisper of magic pass through her scalp. Turning toward the mirror, she takes in her new look.

Her hair is golden.

She freezes. Her reflection is utterly alien and yet deeply familiar, like unearthing a forgotten childhood portrait. She suddenly recalls the smell of the shampoo she used as a girl, and the memory leaves her speechless.

Loki looks even more uncertain, unable to discern the meaning of her silence. He begins to raise his hand to her hair again.

She grips his wrist to stop him, her eyes still riveted on the mirror. She runs one hand through her hair, testing the texture between her fingers, almost expecting it to be smoother, lighter. Her face already appears softer, with less of the battle-hardened edge she has honed over the centuries. She realizes then just how much of her identity is entwined in her appearance, and wonders if the darkening of her hair all those years ago actually helped sharpen her development as a warrior.

Loki’s continued nervousness implies that he had not planned this beforehand, and that he even expects a fight. But she had truly forgiven him when he had apologized two years ago, and now she merely feels curious.

“I like it,” she says, and smiles to put him at ease. “As long as it isn’t permanent this time.”

“Yes, well,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he has created, “this is merely how the mortals will see you. You will remain the same in your own eyes and mine. Unless you prefer otherwise.”

He makes a small gesture and the gold darkens to her normal color once more. She feels a strange mix of disappointment and relief. She had forgotten how shocking it was to see herself so changed.

He is still watching her carefully, as if questioning which color she truly prefers. His insecurity is endearing and exasperating at the same time.

“I was not lying when I told you I like my hair dark,” she assures him. “After all, I wear it much better than you.”

His smile returns with her jest. “There are many things you wear better than I, my lady. That I will gladly concede.”

Their relationship is new enough that such remarks still fluster her, and she shoves him playfully against the door. He does not struggle at all as she yanks him down by the collar to kiss him.

“How much time do we have until the concert?” she asks against his lips.

“About an hour.”

“Enough time for a short dinner, I hope. I am starving.”

“I ordered food to be brought to our room. Transporting us to the concert hall will take but a few seconds. We have time.”

He says those words with the same suggestiveness she infuses into their next kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Is it Sif's turn to drift off during the concert? Is there a plot to this fic?


	4. Chapter 4

The concert is exquisite. There are only a few areas in which Midgard surpasses other realms, and music is one of them. The recording they had heard in the car was a pale facsimile of the live performance. He had been unsure whether Sif would enjoy it given her general lack of understanding of the arts, but she had sat attentively beside him the entire time and even asked for a copy of the recording to bring back to Asgard.

It is now midnight and they are back in their hotel, idling away time before they sleep. He has just finished the tenth chapter of a fascinating book he had picked up on his last trip to Vanaheim. It has been a while since he has read anything for leisure, and he resolves to set aside more time to do so when they return to Asgard. Simple pleasures such as this should help keep him sane so that impromptu banishments are not necessary in the future.

Sif lounges on the bed, lying on her stomach with her feet absently tapping against the headboard as she flips channels on the television. He amends his thought. If all future banishments include her as well, he supposes they will not be so unpleasant.

A frown crosses her face. “I did not know they held such contests on Midgard.”

He glances at the television to see what she is talking about. It appears to be a competition of physical strength and agility. The current contestant is struggling to cross a pool of water by swinging on a series of flimsy-looking rings, and the announcers dissect his efforts with enthusiasm. In the background, the arena is filled to overflowing with a wildly cheering crowd.

Shortly after the man falls into the pool, the announcers inform viewers that they will return after a short ‘commercial break.’ The flashy text on the screen reads _American Ninja Warrior._

“An American contest, playing on European television. It must be quite popular,” Loki remarks.

“Perhaps Midgardians are not as weak as I thought,” Sif muses. “Though such an obstacle course would be child’s play for any Asgardian warrior.”

Loki nods his agreement and returns to reading. Sif continues to watch the show, and two contestants later she sits up in bed.

“Finally, a woman competes,” she says with anticipation.

Intrigued, he looks up again and watches as a petite woman hardly taller than Jane Foster begins the course. It is obvious to him that she holds the advantage over the men who had come before her. With such little mass, she should be light and agile enough to master most of the feats, which all seem to involve swinging and leaping. It is puzzling that most of the show’s contestants are bulky men.

Oddly, the commentators do not share Loki’s opinion. From the very first obstacle, they cast doubt on the woman’s abilities, emphasizing the long distances she must cross and questioning whether she has the endurance to continue. Sif sits up straighter and leans forward, indignant at their treatment of her kindred female warrior.

“That is ridiculous. Of course she can cross that space. She is clearly trained in acrobatics and has the build for it. There, she has made it to the platform. Honestly, who appointed these judges? I have learned nothing from their commentary except how ignorant Midgardian males can be toward their women.”

“I suppose Midgard is as unenlightened on this front as Asgard has traditionally been,” Loki says. “Perhaps this woman will prove them all wrong the way you did when you began your training.”

“Not when I began my training. I proved myself on the field of battle,” she corrects him. “Which is what this woman is doing now, yet they seem blind to it.”

But there are still three obstacles to go, and though the contestant performs admirably, she misses a jump in the last challenge and falls into a safety net. Loki feels a rare pang of sympathy as the announcers comment on her failure with patronizing admiration, as if little more could be expected of her given her slight size and build. He is all too familiar with such dismissals.

“No, she did not fall because she was weak,” Sif argues with the television. “She fell by accident. She had plenty of strength left – her face was not even flushed.”

“They cannot hear you, my lady.”

“I know,” she snaps. “But it is a pity. I’ve half a mind to seek out the organizers of this spectacle and explain to them the difference between weakness and an honest mistake.”

“That confrontation I would very much like to see.” A slow smile curves his lips. “Hmm.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the television to look at him. “What? I can hear you scheming from here.”

“America is not so far away. I could get us there tomorrow morning quite easily.”

“And march into that arena to interrupt their contest? Not even I think that is a good plan.”

“The contest we just saw was filmed long ago,” he explains as he takes out the phone he had procured for this trip. “I know a bit about how Midgardian entertainment works. They take months to find these contestants and film their attempts to win. If we are lucky, they will be in the process of selecting the next contestants right now.”

He quickly browses through several websites on his phone and finds the answers he is looking for. The producers are indeed filming the next season, in the city of Los Angeles.

“Loki, as much as I would like to show them the error of their ways, we should not be meddling in Midgardian affairs. Not unless we want to draw the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“This is hardly meddling. Perhaps if it were a wrestling contest or some other event where you could cause real harm, I would have reservations. But it is only an obstacle course, and an easy one that you could conquer in your sleep. We should try to have some fun on this holiday, shouldn’t we?”

“I remember that look on your face from our childhood. It does not ever bode well.”

“It has been too long since the God of Mischief exercised his title. I should not let it rust.”

Sif rolls her eyes at him and falls back onto the bed in a most undignified manner. “I will always have reservations about your plans for mischief. But that is a matter for the morning. It’s late, and I am tired. Come to bed with me.”

He puts away his phone and looks at her, limbs splayed and lovely dark hair a mess around her head. She looks back at him petulantly as if daring him to tease her. He shakes his head with a smile and joins her on the bed.

“And so ends day one of our banishment,” he says when they are settled in beside each other. She kisses his cheek and closes her eyes, tucking her face into his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: By how many minutes will Sif break the record? And how much more fluff can either of them stomach?


	5. Chapter 5

While the obstacle course is child’s play for someone like Sif, altering the tryouts roster to allow for an additional applicant is child’s play for Loki. He even manages to move them up in the line, which is abysmally long. As expected, they are surrounded by exceptionally fit men, with only a few women scattered throughout. Loki and Sif wait in silent boredom, listening to the conversations going on around them. It is all rather familiar, the spewing of bravado and the casual sizing up of opponents before a battle.

More than a few eyes linger on Sif as she is outfitted for the occasion in a skintight training shirt and pants. Loki has long admired her lithe, athletic form and the effortless grace with which she moves. He supposes he cannot blame human males for doing the same, especially as most women in this realm are mere shades compared to her. But it still needles him that they have the audacity to stare. They are not worthy.

Then again, neither is he. It still puzzles him that she has chosen to be with him, when she had loved his brother for so long and could have her pick of Aesir men. One without Loki’s track record, surely.

If Sif notices the stares, it seems she has elected to ignore them completely. She has faced down condescending treatment in the training arena for most of her life, and appraising glances are the kindest form of attention she has received.

“Longest line I’ve ever stood in,” the man behind them says. Loki turns to regard him with aloof politeness. The man is about Sif’s height, and wears similar skintight clothing. His head is shaven and a tattoo of a dragon adorns his arm.

“Indeed,” Loki says noncommittally.

“You train professionally?” the man asks, and it’s obvious the question is meant for Sif.

A smile quirks her lips as she knowingly glances at Loki for the briefest of moments. “Yes, you could say that.”

The man grins and cocks his head in a way that clearly shows his interest. “That’s a funny answer. You military?”

“Of a sort. I have seen combat before.”

Loki suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He cannot believe Sif is willingly engaging this human in conversation and risking their identities with such straightforward answers. And if he is honest with himself, he feels irrationally uncomfortable being sidelined by a Midgardian stranger.

The man whistles in appreciation. “You don’t look the soldier type. Didn’t think they allowed long hair. But it sounds like you’re not American. British?”

Sif’s knowledge of Midgardian geography is quite limited, so Loki steps in before she can make a mistake.

“We’re from London,” he says, and hopes his look of disinterest will be enough to cut further inquiries short.

“Huh. I’m pretty sure they’re only taking Americans this season. You might be wasting your time in this line.”

“We were recently naturalized,” Loki improvises.

The man seems to take the hint that Loki does not want to talk, so he turns to Sif again.

“You from around here then? Or out of state?”

Loki is beginning to regret his idea to come here, as he hadn’t accounted for the human company it would entail. If he needs to indulge this man’s incessant questions for the rest of their time on the line, he should just pull Sif out of there and find some other activity to entertain them.

But before he can interject on her behalf again, she replies on her own. “We recently moved here, and just returned from our wedding in Berlin.”

Loki resists the impulse to stare at her incredulously. She is a terrible liar, both in form and in content. But this is a new low even for her. He had not imagined she would ever use _marriage_ as an excuse to escape a conversation, no matter how dull.

“Oh. Congratulations,” the man says, losing some of his enthusiasm. Loki almost feels pity for him. He is probably the first person Sif has ever lied to successfully.

But now the human’s attention is on Loki in a not-so-subtle sizing up of his physicality and appearance. Having received such scrutiny his entire life in Asgard, he will not tolerate judgment from a mere mortal.

“Thank you,” Loki begins coldly. “But—”

“He’s the one who thought I should enter this competition,” Sif says, nudging his elbow playfully.

He cannot believe she is still fabricating more of a story. He squeezes her hand, willing her to stop and just let him get them out of this situation.

She ignores him and continues, “I’ve trained well with his help.”

“Ah, so it’s that kind of relationship. You’re her trainer, huh.”

Loki does not like the strangely suggestive tone of those words, or the fact that the man is still speaking to them at all. He wants very much to cast a silencing spell and perhaps wipe the human’s memories of them altogether.

“Yes, I am,” Loki says. “And if you’ll kindly excuse us, I need to give her some last-minute advice before it’s her turn.”

With that, he turns around and nudges Sif forward as the line has moved up somewhat. He feels her eyes on him, full of silent laughter. He whispers a brief spell so that their conversation will be completely private.

“I am all ears for your _advice_ ,” she says.

“Well, _my dear_ _wife_ , it seems you’ll fare well enough on your own without my assistance.”

“Oh, come out of this foul mood. I was only making the most of a terribly dull situation.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “It was a mistake to enter this dull situation to begin with. I’m sorry I dragged us into this idea last night.”

She frowns. “You’re not truly upset, are you? What did that man say that so offended you?”

He gives her a skeptical look. Sif is like Thor in many ways. So forthright and transparent that she takes everything at face value. If he needs to train her in anything, it is in reading between the lines.

Her frown deepens. “Honestly, Loki, he did nothing wrong. He did not make any inappropriate advances on me or challenge you in any way. I deterred whatever interest he might have had with that bit about our marriage. And that was a jest, just so we are clear. I hope I did not offend you with that as well.”

He does not like her patronizing tone or the sarcasm in that last comment. But for once, his wit fails him and he does not know how to respond, because his own reaction still confuses him.

Loki has always been a jealous person. When it comes to the few people he gives a damn about, he is inordinately covetous of their time and attention. Two years ago in Jotunheim, he finally began to understand why as his brother explained to him the instincts of their race. It comforted him somewhat to know that he was not abnormal, merely different from the Aesir in his psychological makeup. However, in practice it has still been a struggle to accept his nature. His relationship with Sif began scarcely three months ago, and already she has burrowed too deep in his heart despite the barriers he has kept up for centuries. She is nothing if not a warrior; for every opening he has given her, she has been able to overtake his surrounding defenses with frightening ease.

And now she sees his jealousy laid bare, jealousy of a _mortal_. It makes him want to push her away out of shame, and for her own good. He still cannot imagine why she would want to be with him when he is like this. His only consolation is that he has made sure to keep his expectations extremely low in order to soften the blow when it eventually falls.

“Loki,” she presses when he doesn’t respond. “I know not what goes on in your head, but I hope you will get over it. This holiday is too short to be ruined by your sulking.”

He knows she has made valiant efforts to understand him better, and has been a fairly good listener when he has cared to speak of deeper matters. But at the moment she reminds him of Thor at the time of his first coronation. Thor who could not grasp the intricacies of Loki’s emotions and tended to dismiss him instead of drawing him out.

“You are right, my lady,” he says shortly, and leaves it at that. A half-truth, for the only part he agrees with her about is that she still does not know his mind.

She sighs in exasperation and runs a hand through her hair. Then she steps straight into his personal space and wraps her arms around him tightly, uncaring of the fact that they are surrounded by humans. The sudden overture catches him off guard, and he stands completely still.

“You drive me mad,” she huffs into his ear, her hair tickling his nose. “Every time I think I have you, you slip away somehow. But know this, Loki. I am not going to let go. I will not be defeated by such petty fights.”

She holds him there unyieldingly even when he urges her forward, for the line has begun to move again. He is certain that in another second the man behind them will have something snide to say, and he does not want to hear it.

Conceding, he raises his arms to return her embrace. She gives him a last squeeze and releases him from her death grip. But her hand is still wrapped around his wrist as she tugs him forward in the line.

The argument is not over, as it is merely a variation of a much longer battle they have been fighting. They don’t speak for the rest of their time in the queue, but she remains close to his side, always touching his arm or brushing against his shoulder. Despite these silent assurances and her promise that he would always know where he stood with her, he finds he still doesn’t trust her nearly as much as he should. He remembers how Thor had told him years ago that he would hold on until it killed him, and how deeply Loki had tested that claim. He does not want Sif to go through the same pain.

If Sif is aware that his head is whirring with such thoughts, she does not rebuke him as she usually does. When they reach the check-in table, she signs several documents with a pseudonym he had chosen for her, a very unassuming _Sara Smith,_ and is led into the arena. Loki is given a seat on the opposite side of the vast room from the judges, who are still animatedly discussing the last contestant.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the director calls to Sif, who stands on an elevated platform. The first obstacle requires her to run across a series of slanted blocks spaced a fair distance apart. One misstep would probably disqualify any contestant from advancing. There are five obstacles after that, each more difficult than the last. She studies the length of the course without expression, entirely focused on the task before her. From centuries of fighting together, he knows that look well, along with the slight smirk that follows as she sprints forward.

Loki wills himself to forget his own disquiet for the time being, and leans back in his chair simply to watch her conquer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: How much of this holiday will be ruined by Loki's sulking? How fast will Sara Smith catch on across the Internet?


	6. Chapter 6

Getting out of the arena after she finishes the course is harder than she thought. She had assumed Loki would simply transport them out of there with a spell, but for some inexplicable reason he does not leave his seat as the judges and other contestants swarm her with awed praise.

“That was fucking amazing! How? Just how?” exclaims the man who had spoken to them in line.

“You broke the previous record by more than a minute. Sara, you are most definitely going to be on the show,” the lead judge says, and claps her on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she replies, but her eyes are on Loki, who still has not risen from his seat on the other side of the arena. She cannot see his expression from this distance, but she imagines he is smirking. Insufferable man.

The tattooed man follows the direction of her gaze and shouts across the room at Loki. “I don’t know what kind of training regimen you put her through, but I want in! Get your ass over here, man!”

Loki gives a slight shake of his head, and she grits her teeth behind a frustrated smile as she makes her way out of the growing crowd. The humans follow her like adolescent trainees, and she instinctively pushes away a camera that gets too close to her face. The woman holding the camera stumbles back from the force of her shove. She apologizes brusquely, remembering that she needs to check her strength.

“We’re going to air the footage of your run as part of the next behind-the-scenes,” the director says as he jogs to keep up with her. “Anything you want to say to the millions of fans you’re going to have?”

She pauses slightly, recalling why she had agreed to come in the first place. Her smile is genuine as she looks into the nearest camera.

“I urge all the warrior women in Mid—in this country to enter this contest and demonstrate your mettle, for you are as worthy as your male comrades.”

She notices the confused looks of the people around her as she resumes her trek toward Loki. They want to know where she is from and how she trains, and pose bizarre queries like whether she has auditioned for another competition called the “Game of Thrones.” She does not bother answering, now feeling a bit desperate. Seeing that Loki _still_ has not moved from his chair, she fabricates her own excuse to escape at least temporarily.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she says, aware of how lame she sounds.

An agonizing twenty minutes later, she finally has some privacy in the spacious executive bathroom. She leans against the wall with a sigh, wondering what in the Nine Realms Loki plans for them to do. Or perhaps he only wanted to make her suffer a little for their argument. Petty, vindictive man.

Nonetheless, she finds herself smiling. This is much more like the Loki she used to know, with his harmless pranks and tendency to disappear at random.

…And his tendency to appear at random as well. Without warning, he is suddenly at her side, casually leaning against the wall in mimicry of her posture. She does not bother to look at him as she swats his arm.

“Took you long enough,” she says with false indignation.

“On the contrary, it seemed you were taking a bit long in here. The staff grew worried.”

“And so you came to check on me. How kind.”

“I am your trainer and your husband after all. What would the humans think of Asgardian manners if I abandoned you?”

He steps away before she can swat at him again. “You might want to show some proper Asgardian manners right now before I must train you myself,” she mock-threatens.

“And what would you have me do, my lady? Spirit us away before all of Midgard enshrines you as their next television idol? Or perhaps before S.H.I.E.L.D. catches wind of your inspiring little speech?”

She knows he is trying to nettle her, especially as he orchestrated this entire farce in the first place, but she can play that game as well. The humor leaves her face and she says matter-of-factly, “Yes, that is what you must do. We should not linger.”

Loki blinks at the lack of a combative response, but seems to catch on quickly enough. “Indeed, our mission from the King of Asgard may be in jeopardy. I would not want him to extend our exile as punishment.”

“We should be careful in choosing our next destination. Somewhere away from human eyes, where we will be safe from suspicion.”

“Perhaps someplace completely secluded, where we won’t see any humans at all?” There is humor in his voice, but she senses the extra meaning behind it. He is still bothered by their interaction with the man on the line, and has not worked his mind around his own irrational reaction.

“I trust your judgment,” she says simply, and hopes he catches her meaning as well.

He looks contemplative for a moment, and she wonders again what thoughts run through his head. Then he takes her hand, and she feels that familiar tingle over her skin as they make their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Sif end up on the cast of Game of Thrones? Which character would she be anyway?


End file.
